“My lord!” she gasped softly. “The others will see!”
His fingers gently crushed her breast a moment, and he murmured softly in her ear, “What matter, lass? They will simply say that the Earl of Dunmor is mad wi’ love for his beautiful little wife.”
For a brief moment Arabella closed her eyes and allowed the delicious sensations her husband’s proximity was giving her to engulf her entire being. “I do not know if I love you,” she finally managed to say, her lips and her brain somehow coordinating the words together.
“Do ye hate me, then?”
“Nay!”
“Dislike me?”
“Nay.”
“Do ye like me at all?”
“Oh, aye my lord, I do!”
“Can we nae build on that, lassie? Come home wi’ me to Dunmor this night, and we will begin,” he entreated her.
He must love her, she decided. He did not have to beg her to accompany him to Dunmor. He was her husband. Her lord. She was his to do with as it pleased him, and yet he had courted her these past months with charm and sweetness. He could force her, and yet she did not think he would. To deny him his husbandly rights any longer would not be fair, and such childishness on her part could turn his thoughtfulness to enmity. “I will come home with you, my lord,” she said softly, “but first we must put the bride and groom to bed. Come now, for we have kept the others waiting long enough.” She turned about, gently removing his hands from her person, and taking one of those hands in hers, she led him back to the others. “I must help Ailis,” she said, and he nodded.
A toast was called for, and while the gentlemen were engaged in drinking it, the bride and the other ladies made good their prearranged escape from the hall, laughing and running up the staircase of the house to a bedchamber that had been prepared for the bridal couple’s wedding night. After a few days’ sojourn with his in-laws, the laird of Culcairn would take his bride home to his newly rebuilt house, and on Christmas Eve Day his sister Meg would marry Gavin Fleming from that house.
“No bride needs a marriageable sister-in-law mooning about her house,” Meg said firmly, “and ye’ll hae yer hands full as it is wi’ Mary and wee Geordie, and the other bairns to come.”
This wedding night, Meg’s impending nuptials, and the open secret regarding Arabella and her husband, led to the unusually noisy hijinks on the part of the ladies.
“Is there a knife beneath the mattress?” demanded Princess Mary.
“What on earth for?” Arabella said.
“To cut the pain when he breaks her maidenhead, silly!” came the reply, and the others laughed.
“Ahhh,” sighed one lady, “there’s nothing finer than a good upstanding cock on a man! ‘Twill cover a multitude of sins.”
“Ye should know,” chortled another woman. “Three husbands ye’ve had, Annie Home, and how many bairns now?”
“Eight,” came the reply. “‘Tis nae my fault I keep wearing out the poor laddies, but my Duncan says he’ll nae leave me a widow like the other two.”
There was much good-natured laughter over this sally as the ladies helped Ailis to remove her beautiful wedding gown.
“Ye dinna seem fearful, Ailis,” Princess Mary remarked.
“Nay, madame,” Ailis replied. “Why would I fear the man I love best of any in this world?”
The other women nodded, smiling at Ailis’ reply. ‘Twas a love match to be sure, and it would be a happy marriage, they were all certain. Little Mary Hamilton came racing into the room.
“The gentlemen are coming!” she cried.
Ailis stood naked within the chamber.
“Quick!” said her mother, giving the girl’s long hair a last brush. “Into bed wi’ ye, daughter, unless ye wish to display yer charms for all the gentlemen to see!”
Ailis was helped into the big bed, the covers drawn up, and a gossamer light white shawl was draped about her shoulders.
“God bless ye and keep ye, my dearie,” said her mother, bending to kiss her daughter’s cheek, and then standing, she ordered, “Open the door!”
Mary Hamilton yanked open the portal just as the gentlemen arrived, preparing to pound upon it. They tumbled into the room laughing and shouting, pushing the groom before them good-naturedly. Robert Hamilton had been divested of all of his clothing excepting his shirt, which hung halfway between his thigh and his knee. He was flush with wine, excitement, and embarrassment.
“We’ve given him just enough wine to assure he does well by ye, madame,” the earl announced.
The laird blushed a deeper hue of red.
“Will ye not come to bed, sir?” Ailis said calmly, as if the whole thing were an everyday event. She drew back the coverlet on one side of the bed.
The laird of Culcairn was gently led to his place by his in-laws, his shirt whisked from him, causing him to almost dive between the sheets next to Ailis, allowing the wedding guests a most enticing, if brief, view of his flanks. The caudle cup was brought with much ceremony and drunk by all, beginning with the bride and groom, who, trying to ignore the lewd remarks and rowdy behavior of their family and friends, almost sighed with relief as they departed, sharing a first marital joke after little Mary Hamilton, drawing the door shut behind her, called out innocently, “God grant ye both sweet repose, Rob and Ailis.”
Ailis Hamilton looked at her young husband and giggled as he murmured piously, eyes cast to the heavens, “God forbid!”
Below in the hall the earl found his mother and said, “Arabella is coming home to Dunmor wi’ me tonight, Mother. We would like to depart as quietly as possible, and wi’ out fanfare, since our marital state is an open secret throughout the borders.”
Margery Fleming laughed softly. “Then I would suggest ye take yer wife, my Stewart son, and slip away now while the guests are still involved in their drinking and their merrymaking.”
He nodded with a happy grin.
“Hae ye told Arabella yet about her mother, Tavis?” his mother inquired.
“Nay, but I will tell her before the morrow. Like most maids, she is shy of her bridegroom, and I hae nae pressed her until now. I dinna want her to hae another excuse to deny me, Mother, and once I hae calmed her fears of the unknown, I shall be in a better position to comfort her in her sorrow,” the earl said.
Margery Fleming’s eyes were damp with tears as she said, “Ye canna remember yer father very well, Tavis, but ye are like him in many ways. History will remember my James as a hard and fierce man, but there was a kind, a gentle, and a thoughtful side to him as well, that he dared show to only a very few. I hae come to love Arabella, but her temper can be wicked, and often she acts wi’ out thinking. Ye will need to exercise all yer patience wi’ her. Ye will need to show her that part of ye that yer father showed me. It may nae be easy, my son.”
“Will I ever grow too old for yer advice, my lady?” he teased her gently.
“Of course not,” she said pertly. “Every man should listen to his mother no matter his age,” and then giving him a kiss upon his smooth cheek, she said, “I will send Flora and Lona to Dunmor tomorrow. Take yer wife and go.”
He kissed her hand, and with a smile moved away from her, his eyes seeking out Arabella, whom he spotted across the room in animated conversation with Meg Hamilton. Slipping his arm about his wife, he said quietly, “Bid Margaret good night, lassie. ‘Tis time to go, and I would make our exit as discreetly as possible.”
Meg’s eyes widened at the implication of his words, and seeing momentary panic rising in her friend’s eyes, she curtsied quickly, saying as she did so, “Good night, Arabella. Good night, my lord,” and she hurried off, looking for someone with whom she might converse. Lady Margery. Mary. Anyone.
“I have already spoken wi’ my mother, lassie. She says ‘tis a good time to slip away. Flora and Lona will return to Dunmor on the morrow.” His arm still about her tiny waist, he guided her from the hall. “Bring me lady’s cloak,” he instructed a servant in the reception area of the house,
“and have our horses brought around immediately.”
“Aye, my lord,” came the obedient answer.
Arabella was almost numb with a combination of nervousness and fear. “My clothes—” she began weakly.
“Yer possessions will come wi’ Flora and Lona tomorrow,” he said quietly, and drew her into the comforting circle of his arms. “Dinna be afraid, Arabella Stewart. I love ye.”
“Enough to leave me here for but a little while longer, my lord?” she asked him.
He laughed gently. “Lassie, lassie, yer making a great to-do over little. I’m taking ye home to love ye, not eat ye alive. Ye’ve been my wife for over six months now, and I’ve been patient, but the longer we delay our coming together, the more dreadful the initial act will seem to ye. Hae ye heard any shrieks of terror or anguish from the bridal chamber above?”
Arabella shook her head saying, “But surely Rob cannot already have…” Her words died off.
He grinned wickedly at her. “Perhaps, and perhaps not, lassie, but one thing I know for certain, both he and my sister were hot to couple wi’ each other, even as I am hot to couple wi’ ye. Love is sweet, my wee English wife.”
“And bitter too, I am told,” Arabella said.
“Aye, at times bitter too,” he answered her honestly, “but ‘tis more sweet, I promise ye.”
Their conversation was terminated by the returning servant who brought their capes. The earl carefully draped an ermine-lined and trimmed velvet cloak that matched his wife’s gown about her shoulders. With sure fingers he fastened the closings and drew the fur-trimmed hood up over her head. Then he quickly drew his own cape about him, and taking his wife’s hand, drew her out of the door of Cheviot Court, where their horses awaited. Lifting Arabella up onto the back of her little dappled gray mare, he mounted his own stallion.
This was the moment of decision, Arabella thought, as panic again threatened to overcome her. What in God’s name was she afraid of? But she knew. Her mother’s actions had shown her that passion was as strong as any other weapon used by man against woman. She didn’t know if she wanted to be bound to this man, any man, by yet another chain. Helpless once more to decide her own destiny. Greyfaire’s destiny. Still, if a man could bind a woman to him in this fashion, was it not possible for a woman to bind a man in the same way? She had to take the chance if she was to know, and if it was not so, what else was there for her?
“Madame?” His tone was questioning.
Arabella looked up at her husband and smiled shyly at him. “I am ready to go home now, my lord,” she said.
Chapter Eight
Dunmor Castle was judiciously quiet as its earl and countess rode across its drawbridge into the castle courtyard. A stableman ran out to take their horses, bobbing a brief bow as he gathered up the reins in his calloused hand.
“Are ye hungry or thirsty, lovey?” the earl politely inquired of his wife as they mounted steps to the door leading to the entry hall.
“Nay, sir,” she answered him softly, and then gasped in surprise as he picked her up to carry her across the threshold of his home into the castle.
“Though we were wed here,” he told her, “ye hae never entered Dunmor as my wife until now. This is yer home, Arabella Stewart, and I welcome ye wi’ all my heart. There has been no lady of the castle here since my grandmother’s time. Her portrait is in the picture gallery. I’ll show it to ye tomorrow. Her name was Jean Gordon, and she was the youngest daughter of a great highland family.”
The servant who held the door never even blinked as the earl moved past him bearing his beautiful wife in his arms, but he was unable to restrain a quick grin as his master strode purposefully up the main staircase of the house with his countess still nestled within his embrace. There would soon be bairns at Dunmor again, praise God!
Arriving at the door to his apartment, the earl reached out one hand to open it, and walking into his dayroom, kicked the door closed behind him. Calum, his manservant, was nowhere in evidence, and the earl smiled to himself. Calum was incredibly discreet. The earl set his wife down, brushing a kiss across her lips as he did so.
“I’m a proud man, Arabella Stewart, and so I tell ye that in the veins of our children will run the blood of the kings of Scotland. Never in his wildest dreams could yer father, may God assoil his brave soul, for all he was an Englishman, hae imagined such a marriage for ye as we hae made. He would hae nae appreciated the low and craven coward yer cousin Richard chose to wed ye. A man so lacking in honor he would nae come after his stolen bride, but choose instead to force her helpless mother to the altar that he might rob ye of yer rightful inheritance. I vow to ye now, Arabella Stewart, on this our wedding night, that I will nae rest until Sir Jasper Keane hae met wi’ justice, and I will do my best to see that yer beloved keep of Greyfaire is restored to ye. Remember, though, that I am but a man. I can only try, lassie.”
She nodded, touched by his words. She knew so little about this man who was her husband. She was beginning to realize that he was a marvelous puzzle, but each little piece of that puzzle she managed to uncover offered an enticing glimpse of a rather complex man. She wondered if she would ever know him completely.
“Ye’ll nae suffer as my wife, Arabella,” he told her softly as he led her into his bedchamber. “I can be a hard man, but if ye’ll but try, lovey, I’ll make ye happy, I swear it!” His lips brushed her brow, and then he undid her cloak and laid it upon a chair. Turning her about, the earl began to undo his wife’s intricate gown with extremely skilled fingers.
For good or for evil, Arabella thought, she was his wife. She remembered her parents’ happy marriage, how they had loved one another to the exclusion of all others, how gentle and considerate her father had always been with her mother, even though Henry Grey must surely have been disappointed by Rowena’s inability to produce other children for him, particularly sons. She had thought to have that same good fortune with Jasper Keane, but in her heart she knew Sir Jasper would have probably made her life a misery. Her parents’ marriage had been a miracle, Arabella thought to herself, too practical to expect another miracle, for all Tavis Stewart said he loved her. He had married her, and he wanted her in his bed that he might get heirs on her. It could be no more than that, though she was grateful for his kind words, said, undoubtedly, to soothe her fears.
Arabella felt the last of the fastenings on her bodice release, and he drew the garment off. “I do not know if we can make each other happy, my lord,” she said stiffly, turning about to face him, “but we are wed, and I will not deny you your rights over me. I know my duty. Do what you will, for I will not hinder you.”
For a moment he did not know if he could contain his amusement. She was so serious in her intent, but he could still see that she was nervous, for all she sought to mask her feelings from him. She was a wee, proud lass, he thought, and felt a small surge of gratification, for he admired her fierce spirit which, he had only begun to realize, was so like his own. Her fear, he knew, came from ignorance and innocence. Tavis Stewart loosened the tapes holding his wife’s skirts up and released the garment so that it fell to the floor, leaving his wife to stand in her chemise.
“I will leave ye to divest yerself of the rest of yer garments, madame, while I remove mine,” he said calmly. He would soon calm her girlish fears, but by the time the new day dawned, he would have taught Arabella that in passion there is no fear, only pleasure. Without another word he stripped his clothing off.
The rest of her garments? He wanted her to remove all of her clothing? Arabella snuck a peek at her husband, who was methodically removing his garments and placing them neatly upon a chair. Was he going to take them all off? She had never seen a naked man. Swallowing hard, she bent to roll down her knit stockings even as she stepped from her shoes. Turning her back to him, she undid the ribbons that fastened her chemise, and drawing a deep breath, slipped it off. Without turning about, Arabella climbed into the big bed, pulling the coverlet up to her chin even as she turne
d over onto her side, her back still to him.
As the bed gave beneath his weight Arabella stiffened, her heart thumping madly. Her first instinct was to leap from the bed and flee to some nebulous hiding place, but she quickly remembered she had given him her word to neither deny nor to hinder him in the consummation of their marriage.
“Ye have not undone yer hair, lovey,” he said. “Sit up and I will do it for ye.”
Carefully she pulled herself into a seated position, her bare back visible to him, clutching the bedclothes to her chest. Tavis Stewart let his eyes slide down the graceful line of her spine. Then reaching out, he began to draw the pins from her hair, setting them upon the bedside table, his fingers unweaving her thick braids until her pale gold hair obscured the curve of her back and spread across his lap. Its texture was soft, and a faint perfume he sniffed, heather, rose from it. The sight and the touch of it actually aroused him. He had never in his life seen such beautiful hair as Arabella possessed. Gently he turned her about, and not at all prepared for the soft kiss he placed upon her lips, her mouth made a little O of surprise.
“Tell me what ye know of men and women, lassie,” he gently asked, “other than the kissing and touching,” he amended, swallowing down a chuckle when she blushed bright pink.
What did she know of men and women? Nothing! She knew absolutely nothing, thanks to her sweet but silly mother, who somehow, despite her assurances to the contrary, had never gotten around to explaining that rather important matter to her daughter. Arabella suddenly realized that she was mortified to find herself at such a disadvantage, and it was all her own fault. When Lady Margaret had offered to explain such things to her as she was explaining them to Ailis, Arabella had put her off in prickly fashion, embarrassed to admit her own mother’s failure of duty. Furious with everyone, Arabella said sharply, “My lord, what should I know? A respectable woman coming to her marriage bed expects that her husband will educate her in all that she must know.”
“A wise mother,” he replied, “prepares a lass so she may nae be fearful of the unknown.”
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